


Friendly Reminder that I Kill for a Living

by kabrox18



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Psychological Torture, Reaper is Fucking Horrible, Torture, gun boners au, its rly obvious but, some random dude gets fucked up, spot the crysis reference, summary: JinkiesTM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2016-10-18
Packaged: 2018-08-23 02:59:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8311267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kabrox18/pseuds/kabrox18
Summary: Talon (i guess?) guy gets captured and fucked up, then eats a shottie shell. Lotsa gross Reaper and apathetic "I'm not a golden boy anymore" S76. Set somewhere after ch. 5 of "It Started with a Gun Boner".





	

**Author's Note:**

> holy shit this was fun to write. does that make me a bad person? :/ yikes.

The silky purring and gold light diving into the basement for a precious few seconds made the man squirm, a cold sweat breaking out as he tried to shout for help. Nothing but pitiful, muffled whimpers managed to escape the tight gag, and those heavy footsteps trailed closer at a painfully slow pace. Each too-loud step made him flinch and then there was the _hands_. Big enough to wrap clear around his face, only made more terrifying by the lethal claws, chrome-plated metal he couldn’t name. The plating had worn off on the tips and insides, blood staining the metal underneath a sickening red. One came up, cupping his chin and curling over his face with mock gentleness.

“I see your will is unbroken,” the monster murmurs, face out of view. “We can change that.” More weak sobbing and he tries to shake his head free, the claws only digging in harder, leaving hideous marks. “Two days of no food and only a bottle of water a day has made you sickly. Tch, I won’t even be able to use you for anything. Worthless little scumbag,” his captor coos, dangerous sweetness like cyanide tucked in candy oozing from every syllable. The disembodied voice dips low to his ear, warm breath tickling the skin and making him shudder involuntarily. “I like it when they fight. Makes the kill that much more… _satisfying._ ”

He manages a vague sound that sounds like he’s crying out a “no” and keeps doing it, eyes screwed shut as blood weeps over his jawline and down his neck and collar. The monster moves around to his front--something it hasn’t done before.

“So scared, poor thing. Wonder if you’re regretting your actions yet?”

Violent nodding and more pleading, eyes still closed to the abomination he must be turned toward. No human could do this, not in their right mind. “Too late,” comes the almost friendly chirp, and the monster comes much closer. “So scared you can’t even look at me. Why am I not surprised…” Clucking and movement--the sensation of having his space invaded fades and he lets out a weak whimper that’s half-relieved. Those footsteps loop around him lazily, cold metal claws drawing feather-light circles around his exposed neck.

“I wonder how long it’ll take for you to break? How long it’ll take me to snap your will in half like a dry twig?” There’s faint sounds and creaking, the monster pausing in its walk. A moment passes, and it grunts out a “stay put” before going up the stairs again. He opens his eyes to see that warm light coming down, almost too much compared to the blackness of this concrete hell. There’s talking; he’s too dizzy from hunger and fear to make out the exact words, but it sounds like arguing. He struggles to focus, leaning over a bit to better catch the sounds.

“Gabe, you keep vanishing for hours a night. This has only been over the past couple of days, after that _errand_ you were running. What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing Jack, I already told you. Don’t you worry your little head--what’s down there is my business.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better. I’m going down there.”

“I wouldn’t. You may regret it.”

“Psh, can’t be that bad, whatever you’re doing. Nothing’s worse than the Crisis.”

“Maybe not. But you still won’t like it very much. Or me, for that matter, for doing it.” There’s a hint of pleasure to the words that makes him want to retch, even though there’s nothing that can come up. Footsteps come down the creaky stairs--different, lighter. He prays whoever this is, they’ll free him from the monster. There’s a click and sodium yellow floods the room, making him squint and blink rapidly as his eyes adjust. Three fast steps come up to him and he looks up into a familiar face; none other than the wanted vigilante Soldier: 76.

“Gabriel!” The man snaps, and that purring starts up again, smooth as a sports car but low like an animal.

“What? You don’t recognize him?”

“No. Why the hell is he in our basement, starving, with _open fucking wounds_?” Each word is like a bullet, but the monster doesn’t register the verbal attack.

“Oh Jack. Always the goody two shoes, aren’t you? He’s your last surviving captor. All his yellow-bellied friends are rotting in that facility. What’s left of them, anyway.” Amusement laces the words, each slow and methodical.

Suddenly, the fire goes out in the soldier, who backs up, apathy replacing anger.

“I see.” The almost-inaudible sound of lips peeling off teeth, and a clawed hand comes into view, touching the side of that masked face tenderly.

“Exactly. Now head back upstairs.”

“I want to watch.”

“Surprising.” The monster sashays closer to the vigilante, head and face obscured by a heavy cowl.

“Is it? You’re talking to Soldier: 76 here, not Jack Morrison, no matter what name I go by around you.

“Very true. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some pain to induce.” The monster turns smoothly, showing a circle of black like ink, cut through with four glittering red eyes and a not-quite-human grin with too-heavy teeth and a metal frame settled along its jaw. It was the same being they’d faced in the boardroom, shotguns smoking and voice like a demon’s howls. It hummed and settled into a kneeling position with no weapons or tools but his terrifying hands.

“I'm sure as a corporate businessperson you write a lot. Signing away people’s lives as if they’re just little numbers on a paper.” There's a vaguely warning noise behind him, and some shifting.

“Don't hurt him for things the UN did.”

“Buzzkill,” Gabe mutters, looking back up to the man. “You wrote the plan to capture Soldier: 76. Correct?” He doesn't answer and closes his eyes, praying to whomever will listen. All he gets is his face grabbed roughly and yanked down, growling too close for comfort. “Open your eyes and answer the question. Did you write the plan to capture Soldier: 76, yes or no?” Still nothing but his eyes are open. They stare at each other for a long time, the creature’s patience wearing thin.

“No answer? Fair enough.” He untied one hand from the arm of the chair, holding it up and gently spreading the fingers. He looks them over with disinterest before choosing the first finger, curling his hand around it just so. The point of his thumb’s claw was digging into the skin at a strange angle, not quite enough pressure to hurt.

The other hand slides down, squeezing a particular spot just below it. He grits his teeth to muffle his cry, an act that simply speeds the slow process out of irritation.

“Fight harder and I'll drag this out.” The metal pierced his skin, but kept pushing, digging its way through the joint and leaving the appendage hanging by threads of skin that are easily cut. The blood is halted by the way Reaper has his hand pinched, and the finger gets tossed into a trash bag Jack offers with a grumpy couple of noises. By this point he's sobbing again, pain burning in his hand and up his arm.

“Did you plan to capture him? Answer me and you might have fingers left over.” He prepares to repeat the action to his middle finger but is stopped by nodding and pleading.

“So you did? Good to know.” He places a clothespin carefully over the hand, just enough to stop the blood and give him time to play.

“What did you do to him?” The gag’s untied slowly and almost gently, getting set aside.

“I won't tell you!”

“Aw, little thing still thinks he can escape. _Adorable_.” Reaper leans in, smiling sweetly and tipping his chin up with a claw. “You aren't making it out of here alive. Understand that?” It's still in that silky tone, purring and affectionate.

“Yes I am. I'll get away.”

“So cute. _Pinche idiota_.” Gabe hums, patting his head gently as if he’s some dumb kid instead of a 40-something businessman.

“You won't give me answers, so I'll take them. Just like I'm sure you tried to do to _my_ Jack." A soft chuckle that sounds good-natured, and a rag to clean off those hands comes out, wiping the blood off the claws and tidy leather gloves.

“So, Jack. Anything you want to see done to the fucker?” Businesslike tone, now, asking a client about their requests.

“Can you give him gangrene?”

“Tch, I thought you'd ask for something _hard_ , Jackie.”

The soldier looks put off by that, but nods.

“Alright, fair enough. What about… Self control.” The old soldier snaps his fingers at the idea, nodding. “Yeah. Drain him a tiny bit.” That seems to annoy the ghost slightly.

“He's only _got_ a tiny bit, Jack. I feed off him, that's it.” Both folded their arms, looking like they were holding back from throttling each other. A long, terse silence stretched on like a blackened tunnel.

“Fine. Give him some pain then--use your claws. Shred him up.”

“Now there's an idea I can get behind.” Reaper smirked, relaxing and turning his gaze over to his prisoner almost lazily. The catlike expression on his face reflects his pleasure and he rests his huge hands over those skinny knees. He only paused briefly to re-tie that gag, smiling as he wipes away half-dry tears.

“You won't be needing these anyway.” He purrs, and drops into a squat, raking his claws painfully slow up those scrawny calves. The flesh and meat goes to ribbons, easily stripped from the bone and tossed aside into the bag. Soon the useless bones are ripped off too--everything below the knees is gone. Two thick leather belts loop around the stumps fast and tie them both off; by now the prisoner is barely awake and far too pale. Reaper picks up a tibia after prying it out of its cartilaginous bond to its partner, examining the red-stained-white of the bone. He watches the prisoner and smiles, slow and sickly-sweet. The predatory expression doesn't stop where his cheeks should be and keeps peeling back, mouth unzipping into a Glasgow grin with _far_ too many teeth.

“What a shame my little chew toy is hardly awake now… Oh well, I suppose I'll have to care for him a while until he gets some of his strength back. Then we can play again.” The tone dips into a dangerous zone, bloodied claws tapping at the slender bone in their grasp. He drops it in his toy’s lap, cleaning himself off after draining the long strips of flesh of their life.

“Come on Jackie. He won't need both of us down here while he sleeps.”

\------

The light fills his eyes and drags him awake. Pain aches through both thighs and for a second he feels white hot agony stab into his gut when he tries to lift his feet. He cries out feebly, catching the attention of Reaper, who’s sitting there with some food and a few drinks.

“Oh, you're awake. Good. Now I can get you fed and taken care of.” The gag was removed delicately, warm food pressed to his lips. He ate automatically, the sweet warmth of what seemed like a pie of some kind making him almost cry out in delight. He ate quite a bit but _slow_ , almost slow enough it frustrated him. Then came the cool drink of juice, small cold sips making him feel far better.

“Ah, I'm sure you're feeling considerably better, aren't you?” He nodded and a clawed hand cupped his cheek gently, warm and rough from the leather. “Good. That should get your blood sugar up enough you start looking a bit more lively.”

Those heavy footsteps leave with the food and drink, the ancient wood stairs behind him creaking as he settled down to let the food in his greedy stomach settle.

After a few hours of peaceful sleep and a feeling of being full, he woke up feeling considerably better. He could think straight now and he felt more energy in his body, the natural regeneration of blood making up for what he lost the previous night. His gut was demanding more food, and sure enough when he looked up the abomination was sitting there, examining the dangerous glint of its claws idly.

“Hungry again? I've got some more food for you.” He turned, picking up a plate of cut ham and some veggies along with pasta he didn't quite recognize. Again, he was fed slowly and carefully, given sweet juice to help his recovery. Each bite was like a tiny piece of heaven, making him feel considerably better than he had been the past four days.

“Jack says I'm wasting my time with you, that I should just kill you and spare him the annoyance of cooking an extra little bit.” There's a soft chuckle from the creature, warmth and mirth in the sound making his hair stand on end. “I told him to shut up and get his ass in bed. I'm sure you heard us.” A nod, and the creature seemed satisfied. “I'll let you sleep a bit more. Then I'll question you again.” A smile passed over that face and he feels his appetite vanish. “Don't look so concerned. If you actually answer my questions, I'll reward you with more pie. Don't, and, well.” The smile twisted up into a venomous grin as he reached over, picking up the cleaned tibia that had obvious chew-marks on it that looked uncomfortably like they fit his teeth.

“I'm sure you’ll cooperate this time though. I think you've learned your lesson. You'll be good for me, won't you? You want that pie, right?” His captive nods frantically and he purrs, touching a cheek again. “Perfect. I knew you'd learn.” So easy to break--a mere four days. At least those of _Overwatch_ lasted longer, sometimes whole weeks at a time. Blackwatch was another story entirely. He dismissed the dark thoughts curling up into his mind and stood with the empty plate, walking out and up the stairs.

He and Jack are talking again, discussing the overarching plan.

“Only four days. He's eating out of my palm now, what an obedient little thing.”

“This is probably one of the worst things I've seen you do, Gabe.”

“Oh. That's strange, I recall you watched me torture a Talon agent for a solid week. Seemed to enjoy it too. You were right--you're no golden boy anymore, Morrison. And I'm not the man who halted the Omnic Crisis, either. I'm an undead monster who eats souls and kills people. A lot changes, doesn't it?”

“It does. But I don't know about you and how you're acting. Seems odd.”

“I assure you Jack, I've done _much_ more disturbing things to other people. Hell, Angela did a number on me. Then again, why do I even ask about her--you practically raised her, after all.”

“Ziegler is a kind woman with her heart in the right place.”

“Kind? Heart in the right place? And you said _I’m_ sickening. She pulled a few of your old tricks on me, you know.” Silence for a beat, some soft footsteps.

“Like what.”

“Remember that little thing you used to do where you’d pluck all of someone’s hair out? A couple at a time? Did that to me, said it was cleaner and better than shaving the spots she needed clear to perform more of her voodoo bullshit on me.”

“I didn't teach her that.”

“Hm. She must take after you more heavily than I thought, then.” Another pause, then the footsteps move to the door, Reaper coming down with a plate of pie.

“Alright, question time. I'm going to ask, you're going to answer. Good answers mean pie for you. Bad answers mean pain.” A nod, and the gag comes out, breath coming cold and tasting of dust instead of a dirty, bloodied rag.

“What did you plan to do with Soldier: 76?”

“We were going to recondition him. Turn him into something a bit more useful than some cheap vigilante.” A steady gaze met his, red eyes unmoving as they watched him. A bit of pie was offered up and a long sigh escaped the ghost. He ate it with a self-satisfied grin. Even if the answers pissed Reaper off, he could only reward him for answering succinctly.

“Alright. What did you do to him? He was strapped down when I broke in.”

“Not much, showed him some videos and got him set up to be fed through an IV drip. The like.” That made the monster _smile_.

“And that's everything?”

“Mm, I mean, we also had a full medical examination completed and sent out to the appropriate parties. His throat and eyes and some of his nasal cavity is completely ruined.”

“Ah, yes. I remember that.” The smile widens a tiny bit, and the prisoner gets a sinking feeling, only for it to cut off by a bite of pie.

“So. Now that _that’s_ out of the way… Where did the files go?”

“A few medical companies that own hospitals, and suppliers to get us what we needed to fix him.” The smile changes--mirthless, now, bared teeth shown in a mockery of human happiness.

“Give me names.”

“Well Vishkar was one of the suppliers, if I'm not mistaken, and a few well-known hospitals were given his files as well. The one started by a certain Ms. Angela Ziegler is one, another is an older group. Hargreave-Rasch biomedical, if memory serves.” A low chuckle.

“I'm gonna have to go island hopping again. Damn. I can't believe you sent his files to fuckin’ Ziegler of all people.” Anger’s boiling up, and he can feel that sinking sensation again. No bite of pie, but he's standing up.

“Wh-where's my pie? What're you doing?” The questions are frantic, desperate. The abomination looks to him with an uncaring smirk.

“You've answered all the questions I have, and you're looking a bit healthier now.”

“...Are you going to let me go?” He knows that's not it, but he asks anyway. Reaper ignores the question, looming over him, that black face oozing wisps of thin smoke every time he exhaled.

“What do you think happens to a human body when fired upon with a shotgun at point-blank range?” It’s stated like the sort of question a high school biology teacher asked his students.

“The flesh is ruined… Bones can be shattered?” He offered, hoping if he answered right he could leave.

“Spot on.” A clawed hand dips under the cloak, pulling something long as his forearm out. The monster examines it idly, hands curled around it easily. “Do you know what a shell feels like at this range?”

“N-no…”

“It feels like _hellfire_.” A tiny smirk, those teeth barely made visible. He feels almost resigned to this fate and wishes the ghost would speed this up. “It was nice knowing you, but I'm afraid you are being let go. We’re downsizing your group--in fact, you're the last one.” The smirk curls up unnaturally and his face looks like some surrealist’s bad dream on a canvas. The weapon moves, seeming like an easy extension of those bulky arms, and he’s staring down a barrel that could fit his whole eyeball through it. Reaper coos something sugar-sweet to him and blows him a kiss that turns into a thin black smoke ring before the weapon registers.

Gabe smiles lovingly at the mess of blood, bone, and bits of grey mush. The weapon fizzles on command and he cleans up in his favorite way, leaving the headless husk and little else.

“I love my job.”


End file.
